A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2)

by Joanne Phillips

  Not that she could blame him. She’d had her own misgivings, looking in the mirror back at the house. Flora didn’t kid herself that she could carry off a dress like this one – she was too short, for one thing, and too narrow in the hips. The cap sleeves covered her tattoo, thank goodness, but the low-cut purple gown gaped across her chest. At least the bodice fit snugly at her waist. Too snugly, if Marshall’s expression was any indication.

  She told him about her new role in the film, striding ahead towards the set where Alberto and the others were waiting.

  ‘You are not doing it, and that’s final.’ Marshall’s tone was firm. He was wearing the baseball cap he saved for bad-hair days, or just for days when he felt like making a statement. It was blue and white with a union flag embroidered on the top. He said his gran had embroidered it, but Flora wasn’t sure whether he’d made that up. He could just as easily have bought it in a charity shop.

  ‘Well, I am,’ she said, just as firmly. ‘I want to do it. It’ll be fun.’ She kept walking, looking straight ahead, trying to stick out her chest so it filled the scalloped edge of the gown’s bodice.

  Marshall grabbed her arm and whirled her around to face him. She staggered a little, steadying herself with a hand on his stomach. She could feel the tension there, could sense it coming off him in waves.

  ‘Flora, don’t do this. Please.’

  ‘Give me one good reason why not.’ It was ridiculous. He was acting like a child.

  ‘I have a very good reason,’ he said, but Flora held up her hand.

  ‘Hold on. What’s that?’

  Someone was shouting, and the sound was coming from the set in the middle of the lawn. Men’s voices, arguing, and a woman squealing something in Spanish.

  ‘Oh, what now?’ Flora groaned. ‘You’d think they’d save the drama for in front of the camera. Don’t they ever get tired of this?’

  ‘He deserves all he gets,’ Marshall said, letting go of her arm.

  Flora followed his bleak stare and saw Nick Gibson grappling with Alberto. The director’s waistcoat and shirt had fallen open, exposing a round hairy belly that wobbled from side to side as Nick shook him by his collar. Nick had the upper hand, but Alberto wasn’t giving in so easily – he kept aiming jabbing little punches at Nick’s red face, and at least one of the punches made contact. Nick didn’t react – he just went on shouting and shoving and pulling, his hands full of Albert’s clothing and his head jerking up and down to dodge the badly aimed punches. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, so juvenile, it would almost be funny. As Flora watched, Nick pushed against the older man hard on the chest, bellowing at the top of his voice, and they both toppled into the painted backdrop, which creaked in protest, leaned back alarmingly, then finally broke into two, spilling the two men onto the ground.

  Flora raced towards them, with Marshall close behind. Jack was leaning against a nearby tree, watching with a bored expression.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Flora said. Nick was on top of Alberto now, his hands around his throat. The scenery lay in pieces around them, and Raquel stood over them, shouting a warning to Nick. Or perhaps she was shouting encouragement. It was hard to tell.

  Jack suppressed a yawn. ‘From what I can gather, Alberto was complaining about Gabriella, saying she’s rubbish and is only here because Nick’s having a thing with her. Nick took umbrage – he thinks Alberto is incompetent and impossible to work with, which is why his original wardrobe girl walked off the set before they left for England. Nick says he’d never met Gabriella before this week, but Alberto took it too far, as usual. Started making personal comments about Nick’s, erm, about his manhood.’ Jack grinned and cleared his throat. ‘Or something like that.’

  ‘Your Spanish is really good,’ Flora said, shaking her head. ‘But aren’t you going to do something? Look – Alberto’s practically turning blue. Shouldn’t you, you know – intervene? In an official capacity, at least?’

  Jack laughed. His eyes slipped from Flora to Marshall, then back again. ‘I am off duty, you know. But for you, Flora …’ He pushed himself away from the tree and strolled over to Nick and Alberto.

  ‘Come on, chaps. You know what they say – violence is never the answer.’ Jack pulled Nick off the older man by his belt, then coolly stepped out of the way.

  Nick glared down at Alberto, his bullish face twisted into a sneer. ‘I’d say it depends on the question. I’ve had just about enough of you.’ He thrust his head towards the trembling director. ‘Next time, PC Plod might not be around to save you.’

  Marshall and Flora watched Nick stomp away towards the house. Darkness had taken over the gardens; the floodlights that had been trained on Marshall’s carefully constructed backdrop now illuminated nothing but the vacant trees. Marshall glanced at Jack, who was helping Alberto to his feet. ‘Harsh, but fair, he said, smirking. ‘The PC Plod bit, I mean.’

  ‘Marshall, he’ll hear you,’ Flora hissed.

  ‘And that would bother you, would it?’ Marshall gave her a searching look, then he shrugged and headed over to the devastated scenery. He picked up a board that was almost as tall as the nearest tree and flung it to one side. Flora realised she was shivering in the ridiculous dress, and she felt Jack’s arm around her shoulders before she saw him approach.

  ‘Your friend doesn’t think much of me, does he?’ Jack said.

  ‘He doesn’t think much of anyone at the moment.’ She laughed, but it was only to hide her embarrassment. Coming out here in period costume had seemed like such a fun idea, a chance to experience life on the other side of the lens, but now she felt foolish. Small and gauche and foolish. Alberto glanced over at her, looked her up and down from her chest to her feet, then gave a salacious thumbs up.

  ‘Siento,’ he called, plucking grass from his belly button. ‘Sorry, my little flower. No filming tonight after all. Mañana, sí?’

  Perhaps Marshall had been right to be protective after all.

  ‘So, is Gabriella rubbish?’ Flora asked, changing the subject and turning her body to block out Alberto’s eager face. ‘She seemed to do a good job with Eduardo’s sling.’

  ‘Maybe Alberto doesn’t like women who don’t respond to his obvious charms.’ Jack looked at Flora speculatively. ‘Does he have charms?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘You’re a woman, aren’t you?’

  Flora sighed. ‘I don’t see his charms at all, but I can imagine Gabriella might rub him up the wrong way. She’s a bit brusque.’

  ‘Is she? I get on with her okay. She doesn’t speak English as well as the others, so maybe she’s feeling a bit out of the loop. You mentioned that sling of Eduardo’s – I had to explain to her what a sling was the other day. No, really, I did. It took a while for her to get her head round it. But we got there in the end.’

  ‘Just as well you were here, then.’ Flora told Jack she was going inside to get changed. ‘How is the security coming on?’ she asked, gesturing to Raquel, who was walking ahead of them. Her head looked strangely empty without the tiara. ‘This must be the first time I’ve seen her without it. I imagine it would be hard to steal something that never comes off her head.’

  ‘Not unless you took the head too,’ Jack said, laughing.

  They parted in the main hall, and Flora slipped into the props room to change back into her shorts and T-shirt, grabbing a cardigan out of her bag to slip over her chilled shoulders. It was getting late now, and she couldn’t remember what time Sidney had declared for dinner. Maybe they’d missed it completely. Now that would put Marshall in a bad mood.

  ***

  In no rush to head back to the Nook, Flora decided to pay Celeste a visit. Eduardo was with her, showing Celeste something on his phone.

  ‘Flora, come on in.’ Celeste was sitting cross-legged on her bed. The antique quilt was on the floor and the bed unmade. ‘Have a look at what Eduardo’s got on here.’

  Flora perched by her friend’s side, giving Eduardo a quick smile. The actor looked ba
ck triumphantly, his eyes ablaze.

  ‘We have him,’ he said, his accent thick with passion. ‘This is perfect revenge.’

  Celeste showed Flora a photograph of Alberto. He was leaning over a woman with dark brown hair. By the light and the position of the backdrop behind him, Flora guessed the photo had been taken earlier that evening.

  ‘Is that Raquel?’ Flora said, squinting.

  ‘He wishes.’ Celeste used her fingers to enlarge the image.

  Alberto was leaning over a woman, but it wasn’t Raquel, it was Gabriella. And he was doing more than leaning. He was touching her, reaching out a plump and eager hand to touch her breast. Gabriella’s expression, caught perfectly on camera, was one of complete horror. She looked like she was about to cry, or slap him. Or both.

  ‘Did you get any more?’ Flora asked.

  ‘Many more,’ Eduardo said solemnly.

  ‘Here.’ Celeste passed her the phone. ‘Thank goodness for digital zoom, is all I can say.’

  Flora scrolled through the images, continuing on from Alberto’s clumsy grope. Gabriella did indeed slap him – Flora grinned at the look on his face in that shot – but then Alberto became angry. The last photo wiped the smile off Flora’s face completely.

  ‘Oh, my,’ she said, gazing up at Celeste. Her friend nodded.

  ‘I tried to tell you what he was capable of. He’s a complete bastard.’

  ‘But he’s …’ Flora couldn’t finish her sentence. In the final image, Alberto was pulling Gabriella’s face towards his, both his fists in her hair, forcing her into some kind of hideous kiss.

  ‘He bad man,’ Eduardo said. ‘I hear her crying out from the other side of garden.’

  ‘Didn’t you go to her?’ Flora said, horrified.

  ‘Of course I go to her. But I take photo first. Is good, yes?’

  Flora wondered whether Eduardo secretly knew about the photos Alberto had of Celeste. Was that why he’d set out to get some equally incriminating ones of his own?

  ‘Did Nick see this going on?’ she asked.

  Eduardo shrugged.

  ‘Why?’ Celeste said.

  ‘You missed all the action out there. Nick tried to throttle Alberto a little while ago. Jack had to break it up.’

  ‘Shame he bothered.’

  Celeste stroked Eduardo’s hand, murmuring something in Spanish. Flora looked away from them and scrolled through the images again. She got back to the first, then continued, flicking with her finger. She smiled at a photo of her and Marshall loading up the van yesterday, and at one of Celeste taking a break from filming, her expression wistful, every inch the star. When she reached a series of shots that had clearly been taken in Spain, Flora stopped and put the phone down on the dressing table.

  ‘So,’ Flora said, when Eduardo had gone, ‘what will you do now?’

  ‘He’s just dreamy, isn’t he?’ Celeste threw herself back on the bed and stretched out her arms. ‘My knight in shining armour.’

  Flora got up and walked over to the French windows, which were open to the night air, the soft white drapes wafting out onto the balcony. She leaned one hand against the frame.

  ‘Are you expecting Alberto to give you the photos back, is that it? Or you’ll show the photos to Raquel?’

  ‘Raquel? Why would we show her?’ Celeste laughed. ‘Oh, Flora, there is so much you don’t know about the world. You really are such an innocent. Next time I go travelling, why don’t you come with me?’ She jumped up and crossed the room, placing her cool hands on either side of Flora’s face. ‘Maybe Alberto’s right – maybe you would be good for certain roles. You have a sort of … fresh quality. Only supporting parts, of course, but … Eduardo and I are off to Paris next. You can come with us.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Flora slipped out of Celeste’s hold.

  ‘See the world, get away from that Neanderthal. Live a little.’

  ‘I live plenty, thank you. And Marshall is not a –’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Celeste picked up her bag – not the one Flora had admired the day before, but another one, equally flashy and expensive-looking. It probably cost more than Flora earned in a month. Celeste checked her lipstick, then went to the door. ‘I’m going to make sure Eduardo is okay. He seems a little highly strung today. See you downstairs in a while for dinner, huh?’

  Flora waited until Celeste had closed the door behind her, then slowly shook her head. Neanderthal, indeed. Marshall had his annoying ways – and a year ago she might have agreed with Celeste, had probably said as much in her letters. But not anymore. No matter how much trouble Shakers Removals was in, she wouldn’t be without Marshall now. But it was just business, she told herself for the hundredth time. No matter what Celeste thought, they were friends and co-workers, nothing more.

  Although sometimes, lately, she wondered if it would always be this way.

  Flora picked up the quilt from the floor and replaced it on Celeste’s bed. She looked around. This room might be nice and grand and all, but she kind of preferred the yurt. Then she noticed Eduardo’s phone on the dressing table where Flora had left it. She picked it up again and scrolled though the photos. There was something about them that bothered her, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. For the most part they were holiday snaps – Celeste on the beach, Celeste and Eduardo drinking cocktails, gazing at each other with goofy smiles. Alberto featured in them rarely, as did Gabriella, and there were a few of Nick, some posed, others where he appeared in the background, unaware. Some of the photos seemed to be out of their proper order, which was odd. Flora scrolled through them quickly, feeling uncomfortable and a little voyeuristic. She didn’t look again at the photos Eduardo had taken of Alberto and Gabriella that afternoon. They turned her stomach completely.

  After a while she shrugged and replaced the phone, then decided to go and find Marshall. Stuff dinner at Hanley Manor – stuff the oak panelled dining hall and Sidney’s white gloves and pompous manner. They’d get out of here and eat together somewhere normal. Maybe find a pub in town, or get fish and chips and bring them back to the yurt. Put the world to rights. She closed the door behind her and nearly bumped into Raquel, who was walking along the corridor towards her.

  ‘Buenas noches,’ said Flora. She’d asked Jack to teach her a few basic phrases, and she hoped this might soften the older woman’s frosty regard. Not a chance – Raquel tilted her nose upwards and continued past Flora without saying a word. She opened the door to her room and slammed it shut behind her.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Flora muttered.

  She hadn’t taken more than ten steps before she heard Raquel’s scream. It seemed to split the very air around her; for a moment Flora’s heart jolted, an electric current running through her, then she swung around and ran back along the corridor. The door was unlocked. Raquel stood in the centre of the room, pointing to something on the floor, something just out of Flora’s sight.

  ‘Muerto. Está muerto.’ The woman’s finger was shaking, the tremors vibrating up her arm and into her face. She looked at Flora, then spoke in halting English. ‘My husband. He dead.’

  Chapter 6

  Flora walked slowly towards Raquel, holding out her hands in a calming gesture. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, but of course it wasn’t okay at all. She could see now, could see Alberto laid out on the carpet, a reddish stain blooming across his jutting stomach. His waistcoat and shirt were still open, and sticking out of the middle of his belly, slightly to the left, was a long knife. No, not a knife, Flora said to herself, trying to think, trying not to scream the words out loud. Not a knife, but a sword.

  The same sword Eduardo had been holding to the man’s throat only hours earlier.

  ‘Okay, what’s all the commotion? Raquel, I’ve told you before about your ridiculous … Oh, what …?’ Celeste stopped about three paces into the room. She stared at Alberto’s body. ‘Is he …?’

  Flora nodded. She had already dropped to her knees by his side and was trying to find a puls
e, although it seemed unlikely that there would be one, and now she looked up at Raquel and shook her head. She said, ‘I’m so sorry,’ and Raquel responded by collapsing, just folding in on herself like she was a balloon and someone had let all her air out. Celeste rushed forward and caught her, then held her in an ungainly fashion, her forearms under Raquel’s armpits.

  ‘Take her into the other room,’ Flora said, gesturing to the bedroom she could see through an open door. Alberto and his wife had a suite, bigger and grander than Celeste’s. While her friend half carried Raquel into the adjoining room, Flora looked around. She noticed that the balcony doors were open. There were two glasses on the little bar in the corner of the room, and a half-empty bottle of whisky standing on the counter. The room was untidy, in a lived-in kind of way, but there weren’t any signs of a struggle.

  She looked back at Alberto. At his blank, staring eyes. It wasn’t the first dead body she’d seen at close quarters. Thoughts of the Captain flooded her mind, of his so-called fall at the Maples last year. His hadn’t been a natural death either, but he was old, very old, and had lived a good long life. Alberto couldn’t have been more than fifty. Maybe less. He looked shocked. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, looking surprised. The sword in his stomach was a travesty, hilt up, shockingly proud.

  ‘Someone needs to call Jack. He’s CID – he’ll know what to do.’ Celeste stood in the bedroom doorway like she was afraid to come back into the room.

  Flora swallowed. ‘I’ll do it.’ She got to her feet. Her body felt as though it was made of dark matter. She could barely think. She walked carefully around Alberto, heading for the phone.

  ‘Not in here,’ Celeste said. ‘We shouldn’t touch anything.’

  ‘Of course.’ Flora shook her head. Stupid not to have thought of that. ‘I’ll do it in your room. I’ll go and do it now.’

  Celeste nodded. She was staring at the sword. Eduardo’s sword.

  Flora started down the corridor. A movement in the corner of her eye made her jump and cry out, but it was only Gabriella. The young woman was standing to the right of Alberto and Raquel’s door. She regarded Flora through narrowed eyes. This time, she made no attempt to run away.